


The 2,000 Feet High Club

by orphan_account



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Airplane Sex, Drinking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Military, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In addition to your your family, there will be girls, right?" Bass demanded boozily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 2,000 Feet High Club

**Author's Note:**

> This story sort of assumes that Miles and Bass had more-or-less the same relationship as described in "The Subtle Dichtomy Between On-Base and Off-Base," but is a standalone.
> 
> Several months after posting this story under a different title, I realized I made a fundamental mathematical error. Kindly look to the end notes for details.

Bass needled him all the way to Midway. Miles tolerated it; so what if he wanted to spend his leave with Ben and Rachel and the kids? Normal family life was in short supply around the base for guys like him. And apparently guys like Bass. Because maybe spending leave with his family was “lame, Miles, that’s weak,” but Bass was in the seat next to him as the plane descended from the wild blue yonder into suburbia.

“In addition to your family, there will be girls, right?” Bass demanded boozily from his seat. Miles looked down at the endless houses below. He could make out swimming pools: modest doughboys, more complicated in-ground affairs. One was rectangular, with a diving board at one end and the opposite, presumably shallow, end taken up by a pool-wide staircase. Tiny little sunbathers were lounging on the steps while a little puff of smoke rose from a grill in the shadow of the split level that hosted the pool party. Miles wondered how they could be flying so close without shaking the whole neighborhood apart.

“Sure,” he told Bass distractedly. Of course there would be girls. Bass drew them like filings to a magnet. Or, given the way Bass tore through people, maybe more like he sucked them up like filings into a shop vac. Either way there were filings. Girls. Whatever. 

Miles glared at his own collection of plastic miniature bottles. Not as impressive as Bass’s, but if his current lack of cognitive skills were anything to go by, plenty enough. Bass cackled and waved his hand at Miles, his tattoo overshadowed by the four miniatures he’d attached to his hand, one per finger.

“Do I even want to know what you did with the fifth bottle?” Miles asked.

Bass pretended solemnity for a moment, then giggled. “Dunno, sailor,” he said. “You declined the opportunity to help me join the mile-high club, so I don’t think you do.”

“Marine,” Miles corrected automatically. “And being jarheads doesn’t give us leave to congregate in the bathroom of a civilian passenger aircraft.”

“Sad but true,” Bass said mournfully. “Unless you want to find a military transport that went from ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ to ‘belly up to the bar, boys’.” Miles shook his head. He’d had enough drunk conversations with Bass to be able to follow the pie-eyed logic, more or less. And enough to be grateful that Bass was at least keeping his voice down. They were traveling in uniform, since that allowed them to jump all kinds of lines, including pre-boarding, which, thanks to the festival seating approach Southwest took to seat distribution, and a relatively light passenger list, meant that they had gotten the back row to themselves. 

Realizing the relative discretion of their position gave Miles a cunning plan. One he probably wouldn’t have had any earlier in the flight or in the drinking.

“I have a cunning plan,” he told Bass.

“Yeah?” Bass asked, not really paying attention. He was doing something with his phone, playing some kind of game or something, with the added degree of difficulty of the bottles still on his fingers. Apparently, whatever the game was, it was pretty thumb-intensive. The bottles just sort of clunked around the casing of the phone.

“Put that stupid thing away,” Miles said. Really, all of humanity’s technological achievements boiled down to some game about pissed off fowl? “They’re about to tell you to turn it off, anyway.”

Bass pouted but switched off the game and stowed it. “What’s your cunning plan?” he asked, showing a surprising ability to recall events that had just transpired.

Miles pulled out the blanket he’d been using to buffer his face from the plastic bulkhead, quickly and mostly dexterously draping it over Bass’s lap while he used his other hand to open Bass’s BDU trousers. Turned out that it wasn’t the secret location of the fifth bottle, but Miles found something pleasing there just the same. Bass’s eyes went wide, like he’d never done anything daring like this in his whole life, never ever.

“We’re at less than two thousand feet,” Miles told him as he started to jack Bass off, using every move he’d learned that would get Bass off fast. “But the thought’s the same.”

Even an inebriated Bass was a ready, willing and able Bass. And a surprisingly silent one. His mouth dropped open and he gasped noiselessly while Miles touched him. Miles wanted to kiss him, but he couldn’t. Not on a plane in broad daylight, in uniform. Even if Bass was just about the right amount of drunk to accept Miles’s kiss.

Bass came with more silent, wordless gasping, and Miles cleaned him up roughly with the blanket, stowing Bass’s cock back in his BDUs.

“Will that hold you at least through dinner?” Miles asked politely. Bass just nodded, then took a deep breath.

“There will be girls after dinner, right?” Bass eventually asked.

“Sure,” Miles said easily. “A bar and girls, and then another bar and more girls. Just try not to grab my sister-in-law’s ass in the terminal, okay?”

Bass leered at him. “I’ve seen the pictures, dude,” he said. “I’m not making any promises about Rachel I can’t keep.”

Miles sighed. He was pretty sure Bass would pull it together enough to behave tolerably toward Rachel. He’d hate to have to put the hurt on his best friend for messing with his family.


End file.
